Havoc
by EPA Nano
Summary: A new figure with an agenda all of her own has entered the realm of Neo-Gotham's underbelly, testing its criminals as well as its bat-themed vigilante to their limits. A feisty criminal with a steadily growing reputation, Renegade certainly lives up to her name. But when her dark past catches up with her, her two lives coincide and spiral out of control.
1. Chapter 1

**Hey guys! For those of you who are reading this, my name is Nano and this is my first (proper) fanfiction. So please be gentle, I write these things for fun. The rating I'm keeping a T just to be safe, some chapters may be more, some less, we'll see as we go along.**

**Inspiration music for this chapter (music I was listening to while writing it):**

**Hit and run - Lolo**

**How the Mighty Fall – Fall Out Boy**

**Trouble – P!nk (this one is rather fitting, I think)**

**Enjoy!**

The evening settled over the city in a brazen display of violent colours before black bled into the night sky. Yet the darkness could not completely touch the streets of Neo Gotham. Neon lights flashed from nightclubs and bars as the stragglers made their way indoors, not wanting to get caught out at this time of night. Crouched high above them all on the rooftops and parapets, she observed the nightlife, away from the multi-coloured signs with growing disinterest. There wasn't much action here, and Renegade had a couple of hours to kill before her next mission. Standing and stretching the stiffness from her joints, she ambled across the rooftop to the opposite end where the network of byways stretched off into a labyrinth.

A bitter chill lingered in the air, signalling the coming of fall. Even in this technologized city, the elements still came into play. She embraced the cold; it always brought her on edge in that delicious way she loved. She lost herself in the night's ambiance; it seeped into her head like ecstasy. She breathed in, drunk on the fumes of the city. Her body grew restless. She needed to occupy herself until the time drew near. She needed edge. She needed action. Her limbs twitched agitatedly, but she withheld the urge to run. She couldn't afford to be exhausted on a job just because she wanted a little pre-adrenaline rush. She fingered the small, cylindrical device strapped to her hip yearningly.

_All good things to those who wait,_ she reminded herself brusquely.

She flexed her muscles, feeling the Kevlar of her garb tighten around her skin. The knives strapped to her belt bit into her thigh as she cocked her hip in a swaying motion, crossing her arms and tapping her fingers in a rhythmic wave as they peeked out of the crook of her elbow. She glanced at the digital clock hidden halfway beneath the glove cuff on her wrist as the glowing numbers indicated that she had about an hour and a half before she had to meet her most recent employer. At this distance it would only take a little over half an hour to get to the rendezvous point. Her lips pursed in consideration. A little wander couldn't hurt, could it? Fingers flickering in agitation, she caved, grinning as she felt her muscles coil in preparation.

_Only if you go looking for trouble,_ a little voice piped up in her head.

Taking that as a confirmation, she sprang out; taking off like a bolt from a crossbow in any God-given direction. Roosting pigeons startled from their nests, feathers flying on the air current of her sprint. She took a flying leap over the alley separating the building she was on from the other, dropping and rolling as she landed to maintain her speed. She hadn't been in this gig for very long, but that didn't make her inexperienced. Most of Gotham's underbelly had heard of the name _Renegade_ by now – half of them had employed her at some point. Even the Bat had her under his radar now.

Steadily, with several, small-time gang leaders under her thumb, she was making her way up the food chain, and yet she remained downwind of the criminal hierarchy. No need to let the wrong people know just how powerful she was getting. So she waited, biding her time, waiting for her forces to grow enough to take her seat at the top and send the kings of the underworld crashing down along with their chrome fortresses. _How the mighty fall,_ she mused wryly. A distant scream pierced through the rushing winds, snapping through the strings of her thoughts but not deterring her pace. Her lips curled before she altered her trajectory, whipping her body right and to the edge of the building, towards the source of the cry.

Using the parapet as a springboard, she jumped, easily clearing the break between rooftops and continued running even as she landed. She could feel the adrenaline begin to build in her veins, so she urged her legs faster, eager to get her blood pumping. The commotion grew louder as she closed in, a final leap, a final sprint as she was standing directly above them. At first she had to stifle a snort. A bunch of multi-coloured bozos were prancing around the alley below with jingle bell hats, ruffles and face paint. However the girl in their sights didn't seem to find the spectacle as amusing as she did. How degrading it must be to be assaulted by a bunch of clowns. Renegade shook her head in empathy, crouching down to balance on the balls of her feet and observe the unsavoury situation for a little while longer.

"She doesn't look too happy, does she boys?" The girl whimpered as their shadows fell over her, blocking the light that made her tears glisten. They'd already mugged her and they still weren't letting her go. Dark metal cylinders encircled where she sat – she could practically smell the gunpowder burned into the barrels. She'd most probably be found lying in the garbage by daybreak. "I know something that will make her smile," one of the Jokerz muttered lewdly, eyeing her curled up body like a wolf would a hunk of meat. "Well, it'll make me smile at least." The group cackled manically, the leader reaching down to grab at the thin top she regretted wearing tonight. "No, please no!"

Something whizzed out of the darkness, lacerating the clown's hand, making him release the soft fabric he clenched tightly with a scream. The girl fell back, clutching her ripped top to her chest as sobs wracked through her body. Cursing profusely whilst trying to stem the blood running from his hand, the Joker whipped around to face the startled, red and white faces of the group. "What the fuck was that?!" he hissed, spittle flying from his crimson lips. "

Boss," one of the boys breathed, pointing to somewhere beyond his peripheral vision. The clown whirled around, only to have the blood in his face drain at the sight before him – making the white paint on his cheeks paler by comparison.

Embedded into the concrete was a black knife, spots of his own blood circling around it, dripping down the sleek metal. He stumbled back, afraid that the weapon would suddenly grow a life of its own and whip out of the ground to embed itself into his neck. They heard tales of Bat-shaped knives flying from the shadows seconds before the very darkness descended upon them. Though the knife wasn't bat-shaped, they had learned to fear these stories, hence the large group and the even larger weapons they carried. "Slaggit, it's him." The boy who pointed at the offending weapon whimpered, gripping tightly to the pump rifle he had only just learned how to use that night. Those were the words nobody wanted to hear.

Something shifted in the clown's peripheral vision, eliciting a yelp to jump out of his throat and to squeeze the trigger at the shadow as it curled with liquid grace around the bullets like smoke. The group – startled by the sudden noise – followed suit, shooting in the same general direction as their comrade until their gun chambers ran empty. Low chuckles started to pour out of the darkness and curl around their senses. The Jokerz shivered at the dark delight it contained. "He's messin' with us," one of them hissed, black-rimmed eyes swivelling wildly in his sockets as he pulled out a jagged piece of piping from his belt. The others mimicked him, pulling out various impromptu weapons and clutching them tightly.

Renegade repressed a snort from her railing pedestal some ten feet above their heads. They really thought that mindless brutality would save them. _How pathetic._ The group started at every little noise, the atmosphere ran thick with fear and tension. "Show yourself!" the leader yelled with misplaced resolution, waving his baseball bat in the air. "We're ready for ya, Bat!"

"Who said anything about a Bat?"

The gang whirled around just as she landed from springing off the fire escape, knees bent to absorb the impact. Straightening, she took in the fear on the faces. Though it wasn't completely aimed at her, she still felt a swell of pride for reducing one of the most notorious gangs in Gotham to whimpering little school boys. Smirking, she stepped out of the shadows. There was a moment of incredulous pause before the group burst into dramatic peals of laughter, initial fear all but forgotten at the sight of the scrawny, limber girl before them. Some were clinging to each other for support while others clutched at their sides. Renegade didn't respond, she merely waited for their amusement to subside with a smirk still plastered to her face.

One Joker however – the one whose hand she'd nearly slashed off – bared yellowed teeth and brandished a black, spray-painted bat at her with his uninjured hand. "You've got a death-wish, girlie." Renegade grinned, hooking her thumbs into the belt loop of her pants.

"Bring it on, chuckles." Aggravated, he charged at her with a battle cry, swinging his bat to bash the meddling bitch's brains in. But she disappeared before he could land a hit. Side-stepping out of the clown's trajectory, she reached out to grab the thicker end of the bat, stilling its movements. Using his own momentum against him, she angled the sports memorabilia down and rammed it back, smashing the handle into his face before he had the chance to move out of the way.

He went down with a howl of pain and his front teeth missing.

The group fell silent, watching their leader writhe on the floor in agony. Gripping their weapons tighter, they all tilted their heads up to the girl as she discarded the bat and perched a hand on her cocked hip. "Who's next?" A moment of silence deafened them all before a war cry echoed around the alley as they all rushed at her. With a flurry of movement, she was in motion, disarming the ones who were closest to her and knocking them into the ones further back. They were all on the ground within seconds. Renegade frowned, finding the 'fight' tedious. She expected more from the group of testosterone filled youths. "Surely you have more fight in you than that?" she muttered distastefully, a pout playing on her lips. At her taunt, several of the men stumbled back up, coming at her with fists and snarls. Renegade grinned. Much better.

The first man she flipped over her shoulder, carrying the movement into a roundhouse kick to the gut of the second. A pudgy fist came inches away from her jaw until she grabbed it, locking her arms against the sheer force behind the strike and was shoved back with her heels digging and scraping along the ground as a result. She had to admit, this one was strong, but she knew strength would be nothing when she knew how to use it against him. Twisting behind the brute, she trapped the limb into a vicious arm lock that had him screaming. She smirked. All that power and now he was helpless and at her mercy. Pity for him, she didn't have any.

Her ears twitched when the shuffling behind her caught her attention. Out of her peripheral, two men were coming at her from behind and seemed to have enough sense to pick up their weapons. Renegade's lips curled up as she hauled the man around to use as a human shield, pulling his arm to breaking point with the action. Listening to the girlish squeals he was emitting, she placed her boot into the fleshy small of his back. When the two Jokerz closed in, she shoved him forward and into the pair, a sickening crack breaking through amidst the chaos when his arm snapped in her hold. He crushed his comrades under his sheer bulk as all their bodies hit the floor. They were out cold.

The group were a whining mass of sprawled angles at her feet. Renegade sighed as content settled over her mind. She'd barely broken a sweat. The girl was long gone, not that she cared. Her need for action was stated, for now. Entwining her fingers together, she stretched her arms up, pulling on her muscles until her shoulders cracked with a satisfying _pop_. She killed enough time, she found herself musing when a low whine of a powerful, impending engine greeted her ears. Her head jerked up at the sound, unconsciously sinking into the darkness. The girl must have called the cops; she didn't count on them arriving so early. Or was she too absorbed with her work to notice that the seconds were trickling by into minutes?

"Damn." Renegade growled, about to make her escape when the area around her darkened, stilling her movements as the shadow spilled over her field of vision. Her head snapped up. A streamlined silhouette hovered in the light-polluted twilight, the whistle of the engine dulling to a hum as the ship allayed to a standstill. Renegade stood in awe at the sight. She knew exactly what means of transportation this was. A pneumonic whirr snapped her out of her admiration as she realised that the ship's occupant was exiting the vehicle. Quickly squatting out of sight, she watched from the shadows as a new silhouette jointed the floating craft.

It was him. Gotham's dark knight.

Batman.

Her eyes lit up as his figure flew down on crimson wings to land in the garbage, mere feet away from her hiding place. She could barely see him, even with her enhanced, night-vision goggles; he just melded so neatly with the darkness. But the red bat emblem on his chest stood out in stark contrast. To think, that would be the only thing criminals would see before he descended upon them like a bird of prey. The corners of her lips pulled up surreptitiously as he eyed her handiwork. The wrinkle of Kevlar between his brows continued to pucker as he observed the groaning mass of technicoloured idiots.

She grinned slyly as he glanced over her hiding place, unaware of her presence yet unconsciously drawn to her spot. God, she wanted nothing more to slink out of her nook and take him by surprise, but no. Not yet anyway. She wanted him to think he knew what he was up against, and then throw the carpet from under his feet. His head perked up at the distinctive wail of approaching sirens and promptly leapt into the night air and back into his awaiting vehicle with ease. Renegade stood from her hiding place and watched with fascination as the engine purred sweetly to life and took off with a sonic discharge that sent the tendrils of her hair flapping wildly, surfing on the torrent it emitted.

She remained still, not even when the police pulled up at the mouth of the alley did she move, staring at the place where the bat-mobile vanished and blended into the light-polluted night sky. The red light of the cherries on the vehicles illuminated her figure once …

twice …

then an empty space of discarded, half-dissolved cardboard boxes and rotting trash cans.

She clambered up and onto the parapet effortlessly before taking off at a dead-sprint, fuelled by the lingering traces of adrenaline that pumped through her system during the fight. It was good timing too, it was about time she made a move to meet her employer to discuss business. Renegade grinned. Perhaps she would create enough of a stir tonight to finally encounter the protector of the techno-city. She was longing, aching even, for a decent fight besides night guards and rivalling street mafias to pick off. Taking on the Batman would be the highlight of her night-career. And the ultimate instilment of fear into her impending enemies.

Excitement blossomed in her gut at the prospect as she flung herself over the gaps between buildings, sometimes pulling off acrobatic feats while other times she was too preoccupied with the tumult of her thoughts to amuse herself with another burst of adrenaline from the death-defying manoeuvres. Their introduction was inevitable. It was only a matter of time before they met – truly met, mask to mask. And if she was being honest, Renegade was anticipating the moment like a kid would the final countdown 'til Christmas. It had nothing to do with her night-time, self-appointed 'job'; in fact it went against everything the job had to hold. A grin wormed onto her face as the wind streamed by, tossing her hair into wild knots behind her.

_But then she wouldn't be living up to her name if she followed the rules, would she?_

**Oh wow, you actually read to the end? *Whistles appraisingly* So … What are your thoughts on Renegade? Quite the little adrenaline junkie isn't she? Okay, so this is the first chapter (obviously), just a little introduction into Renegade's character. I'm definitely going to expand on her later on. Don't want people thinking that she's ****_that_**** egotistical. Anyway, let me know if you liked the chapter or what you think could be improved. Updates will be sporadic (in other words my attention will wander for a while before I remember I have a story to complete), so … until the next chapter (whenever that is).**


	2. Chapter 2

**Hey guys, I'm so sorry I haven't updated. Life's been pretty hectic and only now it's seemed calm enough for me to sit down and start writing again. Also, this story has taken a sudden plot change, so now I have to re-write ****_everything_**** I've already written (thanks brain for giving me this annoyingly good idea). In other news; wow, reviews, favourites and follows already! Thank you guys for the support! Hopefully you get more enjoyment out of this disaster of a chapter than I did. If worst comes to worst, I may rewrite it later.**

Terry McGinnis was a dead man walking. As soon as Dana stopped answering his messages and shot down his apology this morning with a withering glare, he knew he'd have some major sucking up to do if she was ever to forgive him. He'd missed another date last night, the third one this week. Bruce had gotten a lead on the new criminal stalking the streets of Gotham; he was so close to apprehending her too, yet she still managed to slip through his grasp.

He stifled a groan, his fingers working the knots in his bird's nest of a hair style. It wasn't easy leading a double life, especially when said life seemed to affect everybody around him like a pulse or a ripple. A lot of the time most of his efforts came back to bite him in the ass. A jab to his bicep woke Terry from his semi-comatose musings as Max shot him a pointed look and nodded discretely to the teacher, only just turning to see if everyone was recording the notes he'd just put up on the board.

Quickly bringing the limp pen in his hand to life, he shot the pink-haired girl a groggy smile to which she merely rolled her eyes in response. Maxine Gibson. He really didn't know what he'd do without her, juggling his school work and social life while he worked his 'night-shift' was precarious enough as it was. If it wasn't for her he would've failed most if not all of his classes, gotten kicked out of school and Dana would have probably broken up with him a long time ago.

Taking up his pen, he barely managed to get through the rest of calculus before the shrill ring of the bell signified the transition to next lesson – and the beginning of a free period for Terry. He slumped back from his desk whilst everybody packed away, head lolling back like his skull was steel plated. He was grateful for the momentary break, but he didn't know how much longer he could last. He was practically dead on his feet.

Most of the class had already dispersed by the time Terry stumbled to his legs, swiping his arm across the desk, spilling the contents over the edge and into his bag clutched in the other hand. Organisation can come later, he reasoned. By now, the halls were filled with a menagerie of students, chatting or just roughhousing, too occupied to notice Terry caught in their throng.

Too tired to fight against the mass, the teen allowed himself to be swept into their flux, receiving an elbow to the gut or being shoved passed by a rouge shoulder every now and then until his locker was in sight. He broke free of the tide, weaving between students who protested in his wake, but he ignored them all when _finally_ he reached for the combination dial, gripping it tightly to anchor himself into place.

People barged into him from all sides, pressing him further into the rows of metal doors that he feared his form would imprint onto the surface. The school rush soon began to ebb, leaving the last few stragglers to trudge through the corridors, and Terry's grip on the dial began to relax. He didn't know how much more of the day he could take. "Hey Ter." Hearing his name, Terry torqued his head to find Max leaning against the other lockers, arms crossed under her chest with an unimpressed expression on her face.

"S'up Max?" he mumbled, then winced at the sound of fatigue in his voice. Slag, the day was really doing a number on him, and it was barely half-way over.

"Just checking to make sure you haven't collapsed in the hall." Despite the tease in her voice, he couldn't help but overhear the concern laced within her tone. All throughout calculus she'd had to shake him awake near enough every ten minutes.

Terry could feel the breadth of his shoulders tense up as he opened his locker. He knew what was coming; it was the same lecture he received every week since this new criminal had shown up in the city. He'd thrown himself into his work, as he always did, but this case seemed to drag on with little success. The result was a drained, sleep-deprived McGinnis. He'd been in this state for near enough three weeks, and it irritated his friend to no end for his complete lack of care for his own well-being.

So he stood – barely – waiting for the reprimand he was sure to receive. But the pink-haired genius surprised him. "So how's it going with the latest mask?" Terry blinked, stupefied. This was new. After a moment's hesitation, he took this new development as a good omen. Terry sighed as he shut his locker and allowed his shoulders to slump in fatigue. "Lousy," he admitted. "It's been weeks and I still haven't got a lead. I swear, if I spend one more night chasing down this girl only to come to a dead end _again …_" Terry trailed off, slouching forward so his head made impact with his locker door and moaned.

He didn't know why he put so much effort into this case, into apprehending her. Maybe it was the fact that he _couldn't_ apprehend her, the fact that she seemed to be one step ahead. She'd even taken a liking to taunting him now, leaving calling cards at the scenes or even enticing him with a mere glance of her silhouette before disappearing off the radar again. With her, no matter how far he'd come, it always went back to square one. It was like she was a ghost or something.

Max worried her bottom lip. She wasn't one for coddling, but seeing the exhausted droop in his shoulders and the bruise-like circles under his eyes brought out her empathetic streak. "Why don't you go to the nurse's office -?"

"'m fine," he cut across her, straightening from the hunch.

Noticing the sceptical quirk in her expression that would ultimately lead to yet another lecture, Terry quickly sought to reassure the girl. "'sides, I got a free period now, I'll take a break and then I'll be fine." She didn't look convinced; in fact she still looked just about ready to chew him out again. She wanted to tell him that he was being stupid, that he didn't need to keep doing this, that he needed time to take a step back and think things over.

But he'd heard that song and dance before, and if he hadn't taken her advice already, then he wouldn't any time soon. Repressing yet another aggravated sigh, Max reached into her pocket, fingers clenched around warm plastic, and grabbed her friend's wrist, shoving the object into his grasp, forcibly closing his fingers around the object before he had the chance to think.

"I've been meaning to give you this in class, it's just some articles that might interest you." Opening his hand, Terry found a slim, USB devise sitting in his palm. "Just plug this into a computer and it will open some links on the case." For the first time in three weeks, a true grin – not just a fatigued smirk – wormed its way onto Terry's face.

"Max, I could kiss you."

"Get in line." She returned the gesture, finding the grin infectious as she spun on her heel, eager to get to class now that the corridors were empty. "Don't get used to it, McGinnis," she threw over her shoulder.

"Love you too."

The USB felt heavy in his grip, weighing down his hand like its components were made of more than just nickel, copper and plastic. The trip to the school library was a silent one, though Terry's head raced with the possible articles that Max had found. Now he just stood – preoccupied with his thoughts – outside the double doors, staring through the frosted windows with a faraway gaze.

Would this be of any use to him? He didn't doubt the pink-haired genius's capabilities. Far from it. Yet Terry couldn't help but feel as though he was wasting his time. That this would only prompt more questions than answers to arise. Only one way to find out, he thought as he pressed his hand flat against the chipped wood and pushed. The door groaned on its hinges, voicing its protest to being handled in such a manner. Terry grimaced, wincing as the sound broke the stony silence.

At the reception, the Librarian looked up, disgruntled with the sudden commotion. She was an elderly woman with a drooping face and wispy, white hair sticking up in odd angles. Thick spectacles hooked from each ear enlarged her eyes, giving her a strange, bug-eyed appearance. As she tilted her head up, the beads connected to each wing of her glasses clacked together, swinging from around her neck as she finally casted her gaze on Terry. Recognition flared in the old woman's watery gaze, and slowly it darkened, becoming hostile.

Terry raised his arms in a gesture of surrender, a silent promise to behave in his expression. The librarian shot him a withering glare; _be sure that you do,_ before returning to the cluttered ruin that was her desk. Arms slumping back down to dangle by his sides, Terry resisted the urge to flip the rod while she wasn't looking and instead puffed out a sigh. Inclining his head, he glared at the door, still propped open with his foot, willing the damn thing to combust on its hinges.

Grabbing the handle this time, slowly he set it gently back into its frame and successfully maintaining silence. Rows upon rows of book shelves blocked most of his view of the library. The only places he could see without having to crane his neck was the IT area and the reception. The room was silent aside from the constant clacking of a keyboard in use. His eyes swept around the vicinity.

Only two others were in the library with him; the dragon of a librarian and a girl he vaguely remembered being in one of his classes – and she appeared to be heavily occupied with her own project. The girl's head swivelled in his direction, scrutinising the latest vagrant to stumble in, before shrugging him off disinterestedly. Terry didn't pay much attention to her either. Side stepping around desks, he settled down at the furthest console, logging in his credentials before his butt made an indentation on the seat.

The USB pressed into his palm, constantly niggling at his mind while the remaining fingers not wrapped around the devise flew across the keyboard jabbing at the buttons. Quickly opening a new browser, Terry plugged in the USB, eyes widening when the screen suddenly exploded with multiple windows. He had to admit, Max really outdid herself this time. Articles upon articles covered Gotham's latest villain, she'd even managed to highlight key features for him to skim over.

And yet, as he began to read the first tab page, he noticed there was no complete image of her for him to go by. A slight outline on a security camera or a blurred photo maybe, but nothing he could fully discern. Only a handful of eye-witness statements could paint a picture, and each one differentiated from the other. The only correlation in each story seemed to be that she was female. Terry's brow puckered as his eyes skimmed some of the headings. Seriously, some of these reports were ridiculous. _"… a living shadow that merged into the darkness when the police arrived …"? Jeez. _

"Hey!" Terry jerked out of his trance to find the sole other student standing to his right, one slender eyebrow arched as she observed him with critical eyes. He recognised her now. She was the sallow one who always sat at the back of his biology class, a permanent sulk etched onto her features. Swallowing his irritation, he quickly closed the article he was reading and twisted in his swivel chair to address her. Her face would've been considered pretty, if not for the bitter, I'm-better-than-you scowl that marred her heart-shaped features.

Her bleached hair was cropped yet stylish, steadily growing out. Her bangs, dyed blue, flopped into her white-lidded, blue eyes. "You're in my bio class, right?"

"Yeah?" She ran a hand through the scruffy strands of her hair, segregating the pale blue of her bangs and spiking up the shorter white strands, ignoring Terry's tone.

"When's that report due in?" Terry gazed blankly back at her. Report? What report? His mind scrambled for any hints for what she was talking about, ignorant of her skyward glace as she impatiently stated; "Cell biology?" The preverbal light bulb clicked on.

"Protein synthesis?"

"No d'uh," she muttered dryly. "So is the deadline tomorrow or Friday?" The icy, deadpan expression was less than friendly, and made Terry's heckles raise. He didn't like the girl's attitude, but tolerated it, if only to shorten their conversation. "Friday," he confirmed.

For a few moments, she just stared at him, glacial eyes seeming to size him up at the curt tone in his voice. Finally, she rolled her eyes, and began to traipse over to the bookshelves lined up to Terry's left, a sway in her walk. "Forgotten another report," she muttered, circling behind him. "That's a shocker."

"Wanna run that by me again?" he stated, more loudly than he'd like, but he didn't care. If she wanted to start something, he'd be more than happy to-

A short, sharp hiss broke the tension as Terry snapped his attention to the front desk where the librarian held a gnarled finger up to her thin, weathered lips. Nodding once, Terry ducked his head behind the monitor, opening up another tab to occupy himself with school trivia until the girl left. She, on the other hand, rolled those glacial orbs and took her leave just as Terry opened up the new window. He torqued his head, watching her retreat with narrowed eyes. _What crawled up her ass and died?_

As soon as the hinges of the revered, oak grandfather clock grated as they swung open to reveal a porthole in the wall, Terry's mind switched gears. The fatigue had not necessarily dissipated, but had been forcefully shoved into the hindmost of his mind. Exhaustion was not welcome here. The steps were steep and familiar, leading down into a world separated from Gotham by thousands upon thousands of metric tonnes of stone and steel.

The shadows of toothy stalactites cast eerie shapes along the walls as his eyes adjusted to the dim glow. There was only one source of light in the cave, and it was emanating from the giant screen embedded into stone, surrounded by a plethora of other monitors. His eyes automatically drifted over the screens, a frown beginning to crease his features when he realised that they all featured the same security videos from over the past month.

As he came to the base of the stone steps, Terry paused, allowing his eyes to soak up the footage with a grim analysis. He'd practically committed each blurry image to memory. Fists curling of their own accord, he watched as on one screen, the perpetrator had finally disabled all three of the guards, taking a brief moment to collect her baring's before waving slyly up at the camera. These crimes had gone on for far too long now, longer than the Batman should allow in his city.

Gritting his teeth against the agitation, the young hero budged forward, moving to situate himself in his usual place at the Bat Computer. Ace greeted him calmly, shoving his muzzle into his palm. Terry acknowledged the hound with an affectionate scratch of the ears before coming to stand behind the seat positioned before the console. "Anything new?" His mentor questioned, eyes remaining glued to the static.

"Just this." From his pocket Terry retrieved the USB devise Max had handed to him. Bruce held out his hand without so much as a glance at his student and Terry obliged by dropping it into the awaiting palm. Just as it did on the computer at school, the monitor exploded with articles of the new criminal. "This is our culprit?" Bruce asked, indicating the shadowy figure's image – the best they'd gotten so far. "It's not a great photo."

"I don't think they asked her to pose." Terry remarked, eyes skimming briefly over the article. He'd committed each one to memory, locations, dates and occurrences popping into his head each time Bruce opened up a new headline. His mentor remained silent, analysing each report faster than his protégée. With every word the old man read, his brow rose sceptically. "These are _all_ connected to her?" he finally questioned, eyes still scanning over the articles. "

Yeah, Max is certain, but it's weird. In one article she's raiding a shipment of imported weapons, another she's put several known gang members in body casts." He had to admit, this case had him stumped. The number of different crimes connected by her were odd. A criminal factotum wasn't uncommon in Gotham's underbelly, but what she did, it felt personal somehow. The guys she'd put in Gotham general weren't looted, nor were they used as a 'political' warning. It was almost as though they merely crossed paths with her at the worst possible time.

Terry cast his gaze over the hospital photos. The injuries were all excessive, all baring the same signature wounds; fractured bones, mottled contusions and deep incisions. The young Batman brought up another pic, this time one of a guy who was once a member of the T's – before he had his face battered inwards and both arms fractured. Long, tube-like bruises and irregular lacerations blemished his body, suggesting a blunt, melee weapon of some sort was used.

Bruce caught the concentration in Terry's gaze as he reclined back into his chair, hands clasped thoughtfully just over his chest. "What do you see?"

"Someone experienced," the younger Batman answered his mentor mechanically. "She has skill, but she's unfocused and undisciplined," he stated, noting down the unwarranted power behind each blow. "She has no control over her actions, and as a result she's reckless. Obviously, she has yet to meet her match."

Bruce hummed thoughtfully, silently pleased with his apprentice's progress. Being able to dissect a criminal with a mere glance was a talent hard earned. One that Terry had picked up and quickly adapted to. Meanwhile, the hero had fallen silent, quietly assessing the thief. She was smart, that much he could tell. She seemed to know the layout of every building, obviously scouting it weeks before the heist. She knew the security system, every camera, every guard. Everything was distinctly planned and well-coordinated.

The first thing that sprung to mind was that she observed her targets before attacking. He'd been analysing tapes for weeks, and no one stood out, no one appeared more than once. He'd hit a dead end again. Now, he was limited to his patrols, hoping that something would come up while he was out. Unfortunately, that only came to a frustrating dead-end. Huffing silently, he turned his heel and stalked over to the glass lined along the east-facing wall, its contents shrouded in black.

A gentle wave of his hand over the sensors and the case lit up, revealing the sleek Bat-Suit in all its glory. "I'm going on patrol, see if her style matches up with other profiles outside of Gotham." Rolling the cowl over his face, he turned to face Bruce, only to stop short at the sceptical arch of his mentor's brow. Terry rubbed the back of his neck and avoided the old man's gaze. "Uh, y'know. If you get the chance." Bruce repressed the smirk simmering on his lips.

"I'll look into it." Terry nodded once. Deciding to forgo the Batmobile tonight, the neo-Dark Knight activated his jets and shot out of the cave. He needed to be quick this time, no lags or distractions. He would catch her tonight, once and for all.

**I have to admit, I have no idea what calculus is. I just quickly googled American classes and chose the first subject I came across. I don't even know if Americans study biology as a separate lesson like us Brits do :/ (well that didn't sound discriminative at all) sorry if I made any mistakes. So yeah, just a little filler for this chapter (as you have already guessed). I don't really like it, (there was hardly any interesting interactions in it) but I will admit I rushed it a little so I could get onto the next chapter. Let me know your thoughts (I know this chapter is bad but I can take constructive criticism … well, I think so anyway).**


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